


"sometimes you make good choices in bad ways (not all your fuckups are failures)" by my chemical romance (feat. fall out boy)

by dapatty, Trojie



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Audio Format: MP3, Audio Format: Streaming, Collaboration, Fluff, Hijinks & Shenanigans, M/M, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Podfic & Podficced Works, Silly, Warped Tour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-07-10 05:40:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19900720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dapatty/pseuds/dapatty, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trojie/pseuds/Trojie
Summary: Ray and Frank are on a quest to help Gerard have some Warped Tour stories that aren't about him puking in someone's shoes, Mikey breaks a pinky swear, Pete is bad at French and Patrick has to wash his ears out with soap.





	"sometimes you make good choices in bad ways (not all your fuckups are failures)" by my chemical romance (feat. fall out boy)

Cover Art by dapatty.

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## Streaming Audio

## Downloads

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Despite the fact that it would be a hell of a cash cow, there are a number of very good reasons that My Chemical Romance and Fall Out Boy don't tour together outside Warped Tour. 

Reasons number one and two are currently making out in the MCR bus bathroom.

Because of this, reasons three and four are outside getting high and harassing an increasingly irascible reason five, and reasons six and seven are trapped in the back room of said MCR bus, pretending that they can't hear anything over their headphones, and plotting their escape. Meanwhile, reason eight is having trouble putting lotion on the newly-raw psychedelia of his own shoulders, but that's because reason nine is hogging the tiny FOB bus bathroom to wash off last night's makeup. 

In short, the combination is only really manageable because Warped Tour is, by nature, unmanageable, and everyone's pretty used to that by now. To put it another way: the fans aren't the reason they fence the bus park. 

***

'Dude, he has a bulletproof vest, it'll be fine.'

Andy looks dubiously at the shopping cart, the hill, Ray and Gerard, back at the shopping cart, and finally at Frank, who's the one pushing the shopping cart that has Ray in it. 'I'm not sure you completely understand the function of a bulletproof vest,' he says at last. 'I'm also not sure that's a real bulletproof vest, guys, I hate to break it to you.'

'We've done this tons of times,' says Ray easily. 

'So why are you doing it again?'

'Because Gerard hasn't done it sober,' says Frank. 'We're going on a spiritual journey to reclaim his Warped Tour memories, and last year in this town we pushed Ray down this hill in a shopping cart and it was fine then and it's going to be fine now too. No, I'll rephrase. It was awesome then and it's going to be awesome now too.'

Andy thinks about what he knows about drunks versus sober people in the outcomes of high-speed crashes, and for the first time in his life wishes everyone else around him wasn't quite so stone-cold sober. 

'Plus, we had to get out of the fucking bus,' says Ray darkly. 'I think Patrick's gone to scrub his ears out with soap, and I need some cleansing mayhem to take the last half an hour of my life off my mind.'

'I'm not sure Pete's makeout noises are worth committing suicide over,' says Andy. 'Are they?'

'Why don't you ask Patrick?'

In the end, the day and Ray's neck are saved by the fact that the shopping cart has a stuck wheel. When pushed with wild abandon it only goes about four feet and then pirouettes sharply and dumps him on his ass onto the pavement. It's funny enough, high-pitched squeaking noises and all, that Gerard declares the milestone achieved. 

'Are you sure it was this hill?' Andy asks Ray later when they're walking home, or rather when they're walking and Ray's limping and surreptitiously rubbing his butt. 

Ray shrugs. 'It was _a_ hill, and it was in this state, and there was a Walmart to steal a cart from right next door, just like this, so yeah. As sure as I can be. 

When they make it back to the buses, there's a sock on the My Chem bus door and Joe, Patrick and Bob are trying to toast marshmallows and light cigarettes over a pitiful flame they've managed to light in a bent beefaroni can. 

'Oh good,' says Frank dourly. 'I see we're _all_ trying to recreate our special memories of last year. What a fucking bonding experience this will be.'

***

'Are they _all_ out there?'

Pete stops craning his neck to look out the tiny slot of a window over the kitchenette sink, and shrugs. 'Yeah, pretty much. We're going to have to let them back on the bus sooner or later, dude.'

'But then they'll know we were, y'know.'

'They know,' says Pete. 'Mikey. Buddy. Pal. They absolutely know.'

'Ugh. This wasn't supposed to happen. I had a New Year's resolution and everything.'

'You made a New Year's resolution to … not make out with me?' 

'Yeah, it was 'no more straight boys',' Mikey says sourly. 'I pinky-swore with Gerard. Congratulations, you made me break the last ever sacred pinky-swear I made with my drunk brother.'

Pete makes a face. 'You didn't really break it. I'm not like, _straight_ -straight. I'm just not gay.'

Mikey has had this conversation with him up hill and down dale for years. Sober, drunk, high, any way you name it, they always come back to this. Pete isn't straight but he isn't any nameable flavour of queer and he doesn't go all the way but Mikey likes kissing him too much to stick to any pacts, promises, vows, resolutions or pinky-swears that tell him to stop. 

'One of these days i'm going to buy you a dictionary and then beat you to death with it,' he mutters. 'Okay. How bad is my hair?'

'Forty-eight hour sex-marathon hair,' says Pete, poking at it. 'Wear it with pride.'

Mikey swats him away. 'Given all I actually got was forty-five minutes of tonsil-hockey, that feels dishonest.'

Pete pokes his tongue out. 'You liked it, princess. You always do. And anyway, they fucked off and left us all alone on the bus. What were we supposed to do to kill time, play cards?'

'Probably. Or we should have gone with them, Frank and Ray are trying to help Gee find his mojo again. Stop him being a sad sober tour hermit.'

'I can ask Hurley to give him some pointers? He doesn't drink and he always finds something fun to do.'

'No, like. He wants some Warped Tour Stories that aren't just about how he puked in someone's shoes,' Mikey says, still cross-eyed trying to fix his bangs. 'They've got this plan about recreating all the stupid shit they did last year, just sober this time. Frank wrote a list and everything, it's on the fridge.'

Pete pauses with his hand halfway to Mikey's scalp. 'Uh. _All_ the stupid shit they did last year?'

He gestures vaguely. Some parts of last year cross Mikey's mind. He swallows. 'Well. Frank didn't put that on the list, and I guess Gerard just doesn't remember.'

***

'Dude, you have to try and remember,' says Ray. He's sitting with a pad of paper and a pen in hand, like the least coquettish secretary in Christendom. 'It's important that they're _your_ stories.'

Gerard is worried that Ray had to listen to his drunk monologues about truth in art too many times and it's infected his brain. 'They'll be my stories because I'm in them,' he says. 'I did a lot of remembering already, and apologising, and making amends, and it was very important but dude, it wasn't fun. It wasn't meant to be fun. _This_ is meant to be fun.'

Ray gives him this unutterably soft look.

The thing is, there are plenty of things Gerard remembers, but they're not shenanigans. They're. They're … special. 

He can't just say that, though, that would be weird, so he opens his mouth and he _means_ to say something about the weather or the local sports team but what he says is, 'I remember things that were fun, but … now that I'm not wasted, I'm scared they were a shitty idea that only worked _because_ I was wasted.'

There's a very long microsecond of a pause, and Ray says, 'I think -' and then a balled-up sock hits him in the face. 

'Toro. Bongos. Rematch. Now,' says Bob curtly.

Ray mouths _we'll talk about this later_ at Gerard and gets up to go compete at a children's drumming video game against a professional drummer. 

He wins, though. He always wins.

Gerard high-fives him in celebration, and Ray mutters, 'you weren't always wasted,' and then Frank and Mikey bounce in and the moment's gone before Gerard can ask him if he's talking about what Gerard _thinks_ he's talking about, like, are they talking about the same thing? Because if they are …

Huh.

***

'Oh my god,' says Joe faintly, rounding the corner of the bus park and being confronted with a recreation of the scariest thing he saw last year. He knew these motherfuckers were insane, but this is beyond the pale. 'Fucking get down from there, you idiot.'

'I thought you were the official Fall Out Boy wild child,' says Frank. 'Don't come over all prissy on me now, Trohman.'

'I'm not being prissy, Iero, someone's gonna die if you try this. You're not Evil Knievel.'

'And that's not a motorcycle.'

Joe rolls his eyes. 'And the two buses you're proposing to jump between aren't the Grand Canyon either, but your bones are still bones.'

'I think Joe's right,' says Gerard, calling up from the ground. 'I think we should nix the shit we did that involved the risk of a broken neck.'

Everyone is very carefully not mentioning how they never really got to try this the first time, either, because Warped management found them and made them get down. The point is, Warped management aren't here right now. Joe is. Joe has to be the management for all of them.

That's the scariest thought Joe has ever had on tour.

Frank sits down on the seat of the BMX bike. 'That doesn't leave us a heap of memories to recreate, Gee.'

'Crazy idea,' Joe breaks in, 'but you could like. Try new things? Things that don't involve death? Because remember how we don't like our friends dying?'

'Aw, Trohman, are we your friends now?' Frank says jokingly.

Joe glares at him. 'Yes. Now get the fuck down from there.'

Getting Frank _down_ from the top of the bus begs a lot of questions about how he got himself and the bike up there in the first place, questions Joe isn't going to ask. But there is one pressing inquiry at the forefront of his mind, once Frank has slithered down essentially into his arms and been set on the ground. 'If this is all about helping Gerard get some bizarro Warped Tour experiences for his scrapbook … how come you guys aren't letting him do anything?'

Frank frantically makes _abort, abort!_ gestures at Joe from behind Gerard's back and then has to pretend he wasn't doing anything when Gerard turns around to look at him quizzically.

'We just. Uh. We're easing him into it. Shenanigans are a marathon, not a sprint, and -'

'And you're afraid I can't hack it?' Gerard asks softly. 

'We're just looking out for you, Gee.'

Gerard doesn't look mad - Joe's picked this up though, over the last few weeks, that Gerard somehow doesn't think he has the right to get mad at his boys any more - but he sets his pointed little jaw. 'Next time, I'm going to choose my own adventure.'

He walks off with his head held high. 

Frank sighs and scrubs his hand over his face. 

Joe looks up at the bus roof. 'So. How are we getting your bike down, then?'

'It's not my bike,' says Frank. 'It's Cortez's.'

***

'I see your bus is empty again,' says Pete, waggling his eyebrows at Mikey, sitting on the sofa texting. 

'No it's not, Ray and Bob are in the back room,' says Mikey without even looking up.

'They've got headphones.'

'No, Pete.'

Pete slides onto the sofa, right up to Mikey. 'What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?'

'I have pretty good evidence that you don't really think I'm a girl,' says Mikey, still not looking up. 'If you thought I was a girl, you'd put out.'

'Aw, baby -'

Pete is too fucking pretty and his hand is too fucking warm on Mikey's thigh and Mikey has zero self control, everyone knows this, it's a fundamental facet of his character, so it's fortunate for Mikey that Gerard takes this moment to arrive on the bus in a flurry of sweat and smudgy raccoon eyes. 'Mikes, I need to talk - oh, hi Pete.'

'Aaaaaand that's my cue,' says Pete, peeling himself off the sofa. 'Au revoir, mon cheri,' he says to Mikey in his excruciating French accent. 

'He does … _know_ what he sounds like when he does that, right?' Gerard says, after the bus door has closed. 

'He's a house of cards, man, if I start trying to impart existential truths to him like how he's shit at French, who knows what'll happen. Anyway, what's up?'

Gerard flops onto the seat next to him. 'I'm having a problem,' he says, twisting his fingers in his shirt hem. 'You know the whole … reclaim Warped Tour thing?'

'The thing we're not telling Brian about? Yeah, I'm aware.' Mikey gets a cold feeling in his gut. 'It's not - you didn't -'

'Oh my god, I'm still on the wagon, Jesus,' says Gerard exasperatedly. 'No. Like. There's some shit I remember and I kinda. I know I did a lot of dumbass shit that was a bad idea, but this doesn't feel like a bad idea, you know, and now they're being all weird about letting me do stuff so it's like a matter of pride that I come up with the next thing, and I think. I want to do this thing but what if it's a bad idea and I just can't tell, and - so I need your advice. Help me Obi-Wan Kenobi. You're my only hope,' he finishes, and then looks at Mikey expectantly. 

'So. I'm gonna need … some details,' says Mikey slowly. 'What's the idea, Gerard?'

Gerard goes scarlet under his foundation. 'Um. You know how you and Pete have a thing. It's good, right?'

Mikey thinks about his thing with Pete. 'I guess? It's ... Fun?'

Among other things, like 'frustrating' and 'infuriating' and … no, just that. No other feelings. Nope.

Wait. 

Mikey squints at Gerard. Gerard who's going pink. 'For fuck's sake, Gerard - '

Gerard squirms. 'Yeah. Like. I miss it. I know I had to concentrate on getting better, and I'm still doing that, but ... but it's okay now, I'm supposed to be branching out again, and I just. I don't think it was just a drunk thing, so I want to try -'

'Bad idea, Gee. Really really bad idea.'

'But … why? We're all adults.'

Mikey blinks. 'Don't shit where you eat,' is all he can come up with, which is like. Extremely more harsh than he means it to be, but Jesus. 

'What you're trying to say is, _we're bandmates, don't fuck it up_ ,' says Gerard flatly. 'Dude, it's not like we haven't done it before, just. I was wasted before.'

'What I'm trying to say is we're supposed to be Morissey meets the Misfits, not re-recording fucking _Rumours_.'

'Yeah, well, at least I'm not singlehandedly the overarching theme of the last two fucking Fall Out Boy albums,' says Gerard, rolling his eyes. 'Stop being a dumbass, Mikes.'

'About your shenanigans, or about Pete?' Mikey asks, a little stung. 

'Pete, dickbrain. Stop letting his fucking boner for angst rub off on you. He _likes_ you, he's just a drama queen.'

This conversation has taken a decided left turn. 'He hasn't been rubbing anything -'

'Oh my god, I didn't mean literally, Mikey. I just mean, y'know. He doesn't know how to just have what he wants, and you're letting him derail both of you.'

'And your shenanigans?'

'Talking to you has really helped me figure out what I want,' says Gerard happily, wrapping an arm around Mikey and squeezing him. 'Thanks, Obi-Wan.'

'Which is?'

Gerard bounces back up off the couch. 'To not let my life become a Fall Out Boy song. Later!'

He's been gone for three solid minutes before Mikey realises that, whether he realises it or not, Gerard may have inadvertantly actually given Mikey a bit of good advice of his own. 

***

Ray, clutching his phone, finds Frank fucking around with one of Mikey's basses in the back lounge. 'Hey, have you talked to Gerard today?'

Frank mutes his strings and looked up. 'Uh, no. I mean. Not since this morning. Should I have?'

'He texted me to meet him at the merch tent before we play.'

'So he wants you to help him persuade kids to part with their allowance for a t-shirt their parents will hate,' says Frank. 'I don't get what the issue is?'

'He's never tried to organise it before, that's all,' says Ray. 'Anyway, that still doesn't solve the question of where the fuck he is now, we've got the shitty 1pm slot, we gotta warm up. Merch sales can wait.' 

It's a mark of how much better they're doing now, that he can say that. There was a time when two t-shirts was the difference between getting dinner or driving hungry.

'Here's an idea,' says Frank, putting the bass down and getting to his feet to reach over and grab his Epiphone instead. 'Text him?'

'I did! He sent me back a smiley with a semicolon for eyes.'

'Mysterious,' says Frank drily. 'Whatever. He's probably doing his warmups behind the portapotties again so he can try and smoke at the same time. Get your guitar, let's do this. We'll go round him up after.' He goes to the door to bellow for Mikey, whose combination of nerves and long, always-cold fingers means he needs all the warmup time he can get. 

Ray stuffs his phone in his pocket and tries to dispel the mental image of Gerard winking saucily at him.

***

Frank kind of hasn't worked out how to tell Ray that Gerard has worked out the salient details of Operation Keep Gerard Safe. He knows he blew it, and that feels bad. He never wanted Gerard to feel like they thought he wasn't capable, or something, it's just. 

It's just they've seen him go through some shit, and they never want to see him go through shit ever again, that's all. 

They go through their pre-warmup warmup, and then Ray waves his phone at Frank surreptitiously, and they leave Mikey to his bass. 'We're going to get Gerard,' Ray tells him, and Mikey just sort of shrugs around the instrument. 

'Okay. See you back here?'

As if they'd go on stage without him, honestly. 

Frank bumps his shoulder as he passes. 'Yeah, we shouldn't be long.'

'Don't let him talk you into anything dumb,' says Mikey, and Frank winces. 

'We won't!'

Ray shoves his phone back in his pocket and scruffs Frank's hair. 'Why the long face, buddy?'

Frank leans into him. At least on Warped he can always just pretend he's hungover or heat-exhausted if he needs an excuse to do that. It doesn't help with being too fucking hot, but whatever, nothing helps with that, he might as well get his snuggles. 

'Gee figured it out,' he says. 'Sorry. It's kinda Trohman's fault but … definitely also my fault. Now he's sad we don't think he's shenanigans-ready. I think that's why he didn't come for warmups.'

Ray squeezes him a little. 'He was always gonna figure it out, Frankie. It'll be okay.'

Frank hrrumphs, because maybe? But that doesn't make him feel any better about making Gerard feel bad. He doesn't push Ray away, though. 

'There you are,' says Gerard, appearing from out of nowhere like a poltergeist. 'C'mon, there's something I wanna do this tour and you guys have to help me.'

He takes Ray's arm by the wrist and starts to pull, and Ray doesn't let go of Frank, so they're like a little set of mountaineers, roped together for safety, which seems appropriate to Frank because he has no idea where they're going or whether or not they're about to fall down some metaphorical cravasse.

Eventually Gerard stops, in the shadow of the bus. Or, a bus. Someone's bus. It doesn't look that familiar, but also Frank's not paying that much attention because he's still being held against Ray's side, his favourite place to be held, and Gerard has snugged in on the other side. 

'I missed you guys,' he says softly. 'So fucking much.'

'We're still here,' Ray says. 'We never went anywhere.'

'No, I know.' Gerard isn't looking at anyone and he's got that kinda high-strung pitch to his voice, the one that says to Frank _look after him_. 'But I did. Like. Spiritually or whatever. There's been a lot of changes, and they've been good changes, and things are really good now, for me and for the band, and - like the record coming out, that was good, and I think it helped us to step back and think about things, and we're so much in a better place right now, but. I missed you guys.'

'Gerard,' says Frank, 'you're babbling, buddy,' even though he's pretty sure he knows where this is going. His breath is a little bit caught in his throat over it, and he can feel Ray's pulse rush in his body where they're pressed together.

'I don't - ' says Gerard, and then he stops and regroups. 'I mean. There are things we did on tour before that I want to do again. And they're not _stupid_ , so there,' he adds under his breath. 

Ray looks at Frank. Frank looks at Ray. 

'No, they're not,' says Ray slowly. 'You mean things like. Us, things?'

'Yeah,' says Gerard hopefully. 'You guys still - right?'

'Sometimes,' says Frank, voice a little sticky in his throat. 'It's not the same without you, though.'

This is, of course, the moment that all three of their phones decide to blow up with texts from Bob demanding _where the fuck ARE you guys we're on in 10 get your asses out here or im gonna kidnap james dewees + go on as a fucking rush cover band_

'Ew, Rush,' says Ray, a man of taste, wrinkling his nose. 

'We better go,' Frank says reluctantly, trying to convince himself to pull away. He does not succeed, not until Gerard makes a little smirky face. 

'So. Okay, we should go, but … do you guys wanna recreate some Warped Tour shenanigans after the set?'

***

Mikey, panting a little from having had to sneak past an already irate Bob, pushes Pete up against an amp stack no-one seems to be using right now. Pete makes a little noise like a deflating squeaky toy which, Mikey has learned from much diligent study, means he's happy with this situation. 

'Mikeyway, to what do I owe this, uh, pleasure?'

Mikey makes sure to push up really close, so they're touching from knees to shoulders, essentially. 'This is called a compromise, motherfucker.'

Pete looks at him, and grins slowly. 'Is it? Awesome. To what do I owe this compromise?'

'My brother told me to stop letting you rub your angst boner off on me.'

'You guys are so fucking weird. And I haven't been -'

'No, I know. That's the problem.' Mikey's phone starts going off shrilly in his pocket. 'Hold that thought, I gotta go play our set. But afterwards … wanna come to some compromises?'

***

Patrick likes watching MCR from side-stage, and he can usually claim a place back there by virtue of being friends with Bob. Watching Bob drum is as much a masterclass as watching Andy, and there's still a little part of Patrick's soul that wants to be A Drummer, so yeah. He'll go, he'll watch the way Bob constructs fills, he'll try and pretend to himself that he's not sweating through his shirt even though it's 100 in the shade back here among the black poly tarps. 

However.

The danger of going to see MCR side-stage is everything else you might see. 

Frank Iero's underwear, for a start. Or what's left of it.

 _God_ Patrick yearns for just like one full day where he doesn't have to see anyone's ass. The unreachable dream of Warped Tour: a day where everyone keeps all their motherfucking clothes on. 

(Mikey always keeps his clothes on but somehow he manages to look obscene even wearing a fully buttoned peacoat, so that doesn't count. Also Mikey is often the reason for Patrick seeing Pete's ass, so he's a traitor to the clothing cause either way.)

You have to hand it to My Chem, though. Even hobbled by having his skinny jeans around his ankles, to the point where he falls over, Iero keeps playing. Even when Gerard comes to stand over him and make suggestive hip movements, Iero keeps playing. 

Even when Ray Toro plays a solo that makes even Patrick - who isn't into men and also is pretty sure he's as overheated as a human can physically get - feel a little extra hot around the collar, Iero keeps playing. And Patrick diverts his gaze safely back to Bob, who's got the glazed, thousand-yard stare of a man possessed by syncopation instead of his hormones, before he can go blind.

It's a level of professionalism they don't look like they ought to be able to achieve, but … that's why they're My Chem. They can make out and rock out all at the same time.

And - Patrick looks unwisely back at the stage - they are. Patrick doesn't need to see this. Jesus. 

There's a sound beside him and he thankfully turns away from the scene on stage again only to find that Pete's arrived, and he's grinning raptly.

Patrick makes a face at him. 'Pervert.'

'Prude.'

When the band comes off, it's the usual flurry of roadies going on, trying to make the switchover to the next band as fast as possible, and Patrick loses Pete … and actually all of MCR as well, except Bob, who looks like he's melting through his black shirt. Patrick looks around til he spots a towel, and passes it over. 

'Thanks, man.'

'Where'd everyone go?' Patrick asks. It's a seething sea of crew t-shirts out there, with no eyeliner in sight. Bob shrugs. 

'Don't ask, don't tell, dude.'

Patrick gets a sinking feeling. A sinking feeling which is confirmed when _both_ their buses have socks on the doors. 

Bob looks at him. 'Want to find Trohman and Hurley and get drunk under a tree?'

The suspension of one bus creaks, and creaks again. 

'Fuck yes,' says Patrick. 'Where's the furthest tree?'


End file.
